Tapestry
by scarletgold
Summary: Every family has its own secrets. Every generation has its own colorful history. Between the lines of the tapestry, there are many stories to be told. Toujours pur? Not exactly. An exploration on the Black Family history.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter; JK Rowling does.

**A/N: **This is not a story about the Blacks you know. The names of the characters of this story, if you're wondering, were not invented by me, though. Go check out the Black family tree (just search for it in the net) so you won't be confused. This was two or three generations back, mind.... And, this is a bit dark and tragic. Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy reading. :)

_**Prologue**_

_In the stillness of the big house, in the quiet of the rain as it patters mutedly against the windowpanes, a melody plays. It is one she easily recognizes, one she hears even in the depths of her dreams. It is one she never grows tired of hearing. Soft and gentle and soothing as the cool wind on a warm day, sweet and lush as clear, cold water to a parched throat, a lullaby to a restless soul – it is a melody that leaves her floating and falling and losing herself and finding herself – with him – all at the same time._

_As she stands before the door, she hears his music, and almost, she could see him behind the closed door, his beautiful face peaceful as his hands gently caress the smooth ivory keys. She closes her eyes, losing herself into the harmony that is for her, for her alone._

_A teardrop quietly falls to the ground. The music – his music – her music – fades against the silent rain as he plays the last of the bittersweet notes._


	2. Shattered Silence

**A/N: **As my summary leaves you no idea of the plot, here's another, longer and (I hope) clearer summary for you:

Lives twist and turn unexpectedly for the Black family. Strands from the tapestry fray and burn, but in the end, everything interweaves once more into what once was whole. This is the story of one generation of the Blacks, and how they struggled towards a bittersweet victory.

* * *

_**Shattered Silence**_

The breeze blew gently, singing a silent lullaby that harmonized with the flowing melody of the clear brook nearby. The grass rustled softly in the wind, and from time to time, a dandelion would float past her closed eyes. She lay on cool grass, under the shade of an old weeping willow, listening to the silence, broken only by the chirping and twittering of the birds.

Cassiopeia sat up when she heard footfalls. Looking around, she saw her twin walking up to her. She smiled.

Marius smiled back fondly and sat beside her. "I got lost a bit," he admitted a little sheepishly. Peia laughed, and it was a lovely sound. He didn't think he'd ever forget the sound of her laughter – not in ten years, not in twenty. He didn't think he'd ever forget Peia at all. She was his twin, after all, and she understood him completely, as he understood her.

They did not look alike, and when he was a little younger, Marius was a bit worried by it. Peia's hair was brown the shade of honey, cascading in soft tresses down her back, while his wavy hair was almost black. Her eyes were the color of the summer sky, unlike his, which were grayish brown. Her skin was smooth and creamy, and almost rosy, while he was pale as sheet. They were so different from one another – he was quiet and brooding, while to him, Peia was vibrant and vivacious. In fact, Cassiopeia was unlike anyone else in the family. Still, he loved that she was so different from all of them. It made her so special.

"I'm glad you found your way," she told him, teasing.

Marius grinned. "Since when did you discover this?" he asked, gesturing at the little glade where they sat, dappled in sunlight, but shaded by the willow.

Peia shrugged, unable to remember when. It had been a while since she had last visited her little paradise, having been so busy with learning new things. Her brows creased as she remembered their lessons.

"What is it?" asked Marius, seeing the look on her pretty face.

She didn't answer. She was reluctant to tell her brother about what she had noticed when they had been to the wandmaker's, but it troubled her. It troubled her, too, that ever since they were being tutored basic spells, Marius had not yet been able to perform any. Yet, the thing that had troubled her most was the letter she had gotten from Hogwarts; a letter which Marius had not yet received.

"Marius," she said, picking her words carefully, "Do you remember when father brought us to the wandmaker's?"

"I do; why?" he answered, his face suddenly bleak.

"Nothing," she said abruptly. She couldn't bring herself to tell him what he might be. She couldn't even bring herself to think about it.

* * *

It was a warm night. Moonlight shone through her curtains like a ghostly visitor, but the curtains were still, seemingly sobered by the abandonment of the cool night breeze. The fire was out, but Cassiopeia woke up sweating and thirsty. She reached for the jug of water on her bedside table, but it was empty. She sat up.

"Keshter," she said, and there was a loud _crack!_

"Miss Peia called?" said the weedy voice of the house-elf. In the dim light, his huge eyeballs glinted like bizarre orbs. She could just make out his pencil-like snout and the yellowing pillowcase he used as a robe.

She held out the empty ceramic jug. "Get me some water," she said.

Keshter took the jug and disappeared with another _crack! _He was back before Peia had any chance to light a nearby lamp. "Your water, Miss Peia, as you wishes," he said, bowing low while holding out the jug, which Peia took. "Miss Peia wants something more?" he asked.

Peia shook her head. Keshter bowed again, and then he was gone.

The water wasn't for drinking, she realized as she sniffed at the contents of the jug. She forgot to tell Keshter. Pollux's ewer was for washing his face in the morning, but Peia kept a jug of clean water by her bedside in case she gets thirsty in the middle of the night. She didn't want to call Keshter again; she was sure he would punish himself first before Peia got her water. She got up, sighing. She will go to the kitchens herself.

* * *

Cygnus was looking strained. He wondered, again and again, how he could have caused it – how he could have sired a son who was seemingly an abomination to the blood that ran in his veins. He didn't want to think it was his punishment for his many sins. He sat rubbing his face like an overworked man.

Violetta glared at him coldly. "He is no son of mine," she said, her voice shaking with rage.

"And what do you want to do? Throw him out?" he hissed, his own voice ringing with suppressed anger.

"Well, what do _you_ want to do with him? Let him stay here? He will make a fool of himself before his siblings! He will endlessly be tormented by the fact that he –"

"_No!_" cried Cygnus, covering his ears with his hands. He could not bear hearing the word.

Seeing him, Violetta was strongly reminded of a man watching his house burn to the ground. It was a pathetic scene, and it made Violetta angrier. She had a feeling that her husband was acting so guiltily because he _was _guilty, because it was his fault. She remembered how, a decade ago, she had thought Cygnus was philandering with another woman. She never caught him in the act, but the suspicion lingered for a few years. It had almost been a decade, but she had not forgotten. Tonight, she wondered if Marius was really _theirs._

She did not want to accept that he was hers, certainly. What would her family say? Her family, who had always held their heads up high whenever the name Bulstrode was mentioned; her family, whose pride it was to be among the most ancient families of the purest wizarding blood.

"Will you tell me something?" she said in a voice of forced calm. Cygnus raised his eyes to meet his wife's glaring ones.

Violetta drew a deep breath. "Is he my son?"

Cygnus almost cringed, but did not break his gaze. He was sorely tempted to say _no_, now that his wife had given him the chance. But if he did, he knew his son would be thrown out. His name would be blasted off from the tapestry, his pictures and possessions thrown away.

But if he did, Violetta would be appeased. He knew the pain and the humiliation it caused her, to have a son like Marius.

And if he did, he would be saving more than Violetta from humiliation.

If he did, he would throw away Marius' life.

"Is he?" Violetta's voice rose like a sudden thunderstorm, and Cygnus lost his train of thought.

"N – no," he stammered. He gulped, realizing what he had admitted. He continued, "When you gave birth to Cassiopeia, I Confunded you so you would think you gave birth to twins," he said, the words seemingly forcibly wrenched from his mouth.

The silence that had followed was deafening, ringing on and on, and yet it lasted for only seconds. The sound of breaking ceramics broke the silence like a spell.

Cygnus' eyes darted instinctively to the closed doors of their room. He was sure that the sound came from outside. Someone had heard them. He stood up and strode to the door, not noticing that Violetta stood still, eyes a little wide in shock.

Marius was not her son.

She strode towards the door and out of the room more quickly than Cygnus, not noticing the bits of broken ceramic that had been Cassiopeia's water jug.


	3. A Long Night

**A/N: **reviews are much appreciated :)

* * *

_**A Long Night**_

_**

* * *

**_

Marius awoke with a start. It was a warm night, but Peia's hands were cold and clammy against his skin.

"Marius," she said, and at the sound of her voice, he sat up. Her voice rang with urgency. He stared at her face, certain that he had never seen her more anguished before.

"What is it, Peia?" he asked concernedly. His sister was close to tears.

"Marius," she said, her voice cracking, "listen carefully to me. Mother is coming, and perhaps even father, and they will be very angry with you. Don't believe what they say."

"Peia..." Marius' confusion rendered him speechless for a moment.

"Did you understand me, Marius?"

"Peia, I – no, I didn't. What's wrong? What is it?" he asked. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Peia shook her head, looking genuinely miserable. She didn't know how to tell Marius to leave. All she knew was that, in a few more heartbeats, her mother would be coming to drag Marius out of his room, out of the house, out of their lives forever. She wanted to save him the little dignity that was left in someone like him, but she simply could not bring herself to tell him. She imagined the scene that would be happening in a few minutes, and shuddered. She did not want that to happen to her brother.

Her newfound anger and determination lent her strength and cleared her head. "Get dressed," she told Marius, suddenly imposing.

"What?" Marius was taken aback.

"Do as I say!" she snapped, her voice rising.

"Are we going out at this time of night?"

"Do you trust me, brother?" Peia answered back.

"Of course!" he replied automatically.

"Then do as I say. Get dressed," she repeated urgently, and she was relieved to see that Marius complied. She could hear muffled screams from upstairs. Her parents were still arguing.

"Keshter," she called, and the house-elf appeared again, bowing. "Pack Marius' things," she commanded when she saw Marius emerge from his dressing closet.

"Will you tell me now what's happening?" he demanded, looking at Peia with so much confusion in his eyes.

Looking at him, perhaps for the last time, Peia could not help herself. She ran to her brother and embraced him as tears started in her eyes. "Oh, Marius," she said, sobbing.

"Hush, Peia," he said, trying to console his sister. He hardly knew what to say; he couldn't even understand why Peia was acting so strangely. "I'm here," he assured her, kissing her on her forehead.

Peia took a step backward. "Listen, brother," she said, urgent again. "When mother comes here – "

She could hear hurried footsteps and more bickering.

"– she might say things that are hurtful and untrue," she continued. The footsteps were getting louder, and she could make out what they were saying.

"– not tolerate it!" Her mother's voice was furious and resentful.

"– just a child, Violetta!" she heard her father argue.

There were more footsteps, growing louder by the second.

Peia tried again. "Marius –"

The door burst open. Framed by the doorway was Violetta, but she did not look like Violetta at all. To Peia, she was a stranger – her face was icy as she regarded Marius with something very much like loathing in her eyes. She seemed to grow taller with rage, and her robes seemed to billow in the still air.

She didn't stay by the doorway long. She hurtled through the room like a violent whirlwind, and to Peia's surprise, seized her wrists and pulled her away from her brother.

Marius was wide-eyed. "Mother?" he whispered.

"You were never my son," said Violetta, but her voice sounded like ice cracking. It pained her to hurt Marius so, but it galled her that she had wasted her time nourishing a child who was not only a Squib, but a child of Cygnus' sins as well.

To Marius, her words fell like the first few drops of a hailstorm.

"Mother, please!" Cassiopeia implored, tears starting again.

"Be quiet, Peia!"

Peia cried outright. Unable to stand watching her brother's fate, she ran to her next refuge: Pollux. She darted like a bullet past her eldest brother's anteroom and into his bedchamber.

"Pollux!" she cried, "Pollux! They're throwing out Marius!"

Pollux scrambled out of bed almost immediately, and for once, Peia was thankful that Pollux was a light sleeper. "What do you mean? What did you say?" he asked, already slipping into his robes.

"Come quick!" said Peia, but Pollux was already ahead of her, his long limbs allowing him to walk at a faster pace. Peia wondered how Pollux could help her. Pollux may have been tall for his age, but he _was_ his age – he was just fourteen, and his say on the matter was hardly consequential.

* * *

Marius was no longer in his rooms. He was at the hallway, with all his belongings scattered about. Violetta had thrown all of them at him in her fit of rage. "Go away, go away!" she screamed, mercilessly tossing bags, books, and other articles at the child. "You never were my son, and your blood is an abomination to this family! How dare you despoil this House?"

It was just as nightmarish as Peia had imagined. She was only fortunate enough that her cousins were not in the house to witness the affair. Pollux stood beside her as if frozen, and though he had three more years experience of his mother than Peia had, he was equally shocked and somewhat appalled at what he was witnessing. He could not fully understand, of course, but Peia, young as she was, was mature for her age, and unusually bright. She knew the deeper, heavier reason of her mother's rage.

Of course, Peia was right. Violetta was in tears now, but she was still screaming, and she was screaming the same thing over and over again: "You are no son of mine!" Marius was not her son, though he was her husbands', and it hurt her deeply to know it. She had been faithful in every possible way to Cygnus, and though she had merely been betrothed to him, she had done her best to be more than a betrothed bride. More than the thought of her wasted efforts, however, was her slighted pride. She knew she was a beautiful woman, and an accomplished one, too, but to have her husband exchange her – even for a short time – for another woman was painful. It was excruciatingly more so to think that that other woman could have been a mere Muggle.

Peia had anticipated her mother's violent outburst, but she had not foreseen how Marius would react. Yet, there he was, pale and pained and confused all at the same time, standing amidst his things like the lost little boy that he was. He had not the heart to speak, not because he was afraid, but because seeing his mother look at him with undeniable loathing rendered him speechless. He did not understand this, and he easily assumed his youth to be the reason why he could not comprehend the intensity of his mother's feelings. All he understood was that she has disowned him for being a Squib, and an "abomination to the House of Black."

When Violetta had broken down at last, Marius thought he ought to speak. "Well," he said, his voice quivering, "I will go now. I can see," he paused, gulping, "that I'm no longer welcome." His voice cracked, but he did not cry, and Pollux thought he had never seen anyone so young act so maturely. He looked at Violetta as he spoke, and then he turned to his beloved sister, and for the first time, he thought that their faces were identical with grief and pain.

Peia looked back at him, memorizing his pale face, his grey eyes, his curly hair. She tried to commit to memory everything about him, for she will never again hear his voice, his laughter… She will never see him again.

The dark shadows in the hallway seemed to grow, enveloping her and clouding her vision. There was a roaring in her ears as all other sounds were shut out, and though Pollux had caught her before her head hit the marble floor, she found herself falling headlong into nothingness.


	4. Fragments

_**Fragments**_

Breakfast was an unusually sober affair, with four empty seats and a very quiet Pollux. Dorea surveyed her eldest brother critically, her bright, silvery eyes twinkling with curiosity and suspicion. Dorea was just six years old, but sometimes Pollux wondered if there had been a mistake in her records; she was such a precocious little girl, and like Peia, somehow mature for her age.

Thinking of Peia made him remember last nights' events. He pitied Peia, especially because she had not even seen the last of her twin, as she fainted. He pitied Marius, too, because had no chance to say goodbye, having been threatened to be cursed by Violetta with her wand if he approached.

He poked a piece of sausage without any real appetite.

"Where's Marius, Pollux?" Dorea demanded. "Where's Peia?" She was quite fond of the twins, as her eldest brother was always busy and away for long stretches of time.

Peia was still in bed, unconscious. Marius was… Pollux shrugged, answering Rea's questions.

Dorea dropped her teaspoon on the saucer, letting it clatter loudly. "That's very rude, you know," she declared indignantly, throwing her pretty little head in the air.

Pollux' mouth twitched, but he kept quiet. He did not know how to break the news to Dorea, when he himself understood so little.

There was a loud _crack_ all of a sudden, and Pollux started as Keshter appeared right beside him.

"Master Pollux," said Keshter, bowing low. "I is sent to you, sir, to tell you that the Mistress wishes to see you," he said. At the mention of "the Mistress," the house-elf trembled, and Pollux didn't take it as a good sign.

"Now?" he asked, apprehensive.

Keshter nodded grimly. Pollux left the table with the air of a man about to face the gallows, and Dorea could not help but follow his retreating figure with her bright, inquisitive silvery eyes.

* * *

The interview with his mother had been brief. She just warned him not to mention Marius anymore, and tell Dorea, when she asks, that Marius has gone and will never return. She then asked him if Peia was still unconscious, and he told her so, carefully keeping a straight face. All the while Violetta was talking, Cygnus stood by the window, pale and silent, staring absently at some strangely-shaped cloud, or maybe some unseen spectacle in the summer sky. When Pollux had been dismissed, he spoke.

"Cassiopeia," he said, worried.

Violetta ignored him coolly. "Keshter," she said softly, her voice a mere whisper. The house-elf appeared with a _crack,_ a bow, and a fearful look in his eyes.

"Tell me," she said slowly, as she always did when giving orders, "tell me when Cassiopeia wakes up."

* * *

Peia did wake up in the afternoon, but she was no longer the vibrant, bubbly Cassiopeia they all knew. Like Cygnus, she grew pale and silent, often with a distant look on her face that was pathetic to behold. She never volunteered to say anything, and when someone asked her a question, she answered in monosyllables. She moved slowly, rather like an old woman instead of an eleven-year-old girl, and she grew listless. The most worrisome, however, was the fact that since she woke up, she never cried again.

She could not shed even a single tear, though she was burning to cry. She did not understand why, suddenly, nothing interested her anymore. Or perhaps, she understood only too well. Perhaps, when her other half had left her, he had taken with him her vivacity and fun, her zest for life and all things new, her love of beauty and appreciation of any company. Young as she was, she craved for solitude, because no one could offer her any consolation.

The only one who could have made her feel whole again was gone, and she felt broken.

* * *

A week has passed, and Peia was... no longer Peia. She was hardly recognizable, though she looked the same, only paler and a little thinner. But she was not Cassiopeia, in Pollux' opinon – not that brilliant, vibrant girl who used to sparkle amidst all the Blacks; she was not that adorable, precocious child who was the special adoration of his uncles and aunts and cousins. She was not Cassiopeia. She was not _his _Peia, certainly. She was not Marius' Peia.

He shuffled his notes, trying and failing to concentrate. He was in the vast library with Peia; the day was supposed to be dedicated to studying. Peia was not reading, as was her custom, though. She was standing before one of the arched windows, clutching the emerald-green velvet curtains, her pale face turned towards the skies. Looking at her, Pollux was irresistibly reminded of his father doing the same.

Their tutor knocked, and Pollux admitted him with a stiff, rather haughty greeting that proved his ancestry's nobility of blood. He saw the tutor look anxiously at Peia, standing silently by the window, as still as a stone statue. Pollux nodded at him, bidding him to proceed with his business.

"Miss Cassiopeia, shall we begin now?" he asked hesitantly.

"No," was Peia's curt reply.

The tutor was used to how the Blacks treated people of his income bracket; he was used to their cool civility and their almost subconscious haughtiness. But such treatment, coming from the remarkably polite, sweet-tempered Peia, had taken him aback. "May I know why?"

For the simple reason, she thought, that she no longer saw the purpose of anything, without Marius.

"Marius isn't here," she pointed out, still not looking at him.

The tutor fell silent. "He – he isn't coming...."

She knew that, and hearing him say so somehow made it painfully truer than it already was. She gripped the curtains more tightly, and squared her shoulders, allowing her tension to show.

Pollux decided to rescue the tutor. Despite his pity, he was growing tired of Peia's theatrics. He had forgotten, as he did every so often, that his sister was just eleven, and she was hurt. He was not used to her acting so childishly. "Peia, please be sensible."

That was a heavy demand, for Cassiopeia. Nothing made sense without Marius. Nothing made sense ever since she woke up without her other half, or even since that night when her father's lies had shattered her as she had broken her ceramic jug.

She turned her head sharply to glare at Pollux.

He bravely met her cold eyes. "Peia, we both know that he's not coming back."

The tiniest sense of reason she had been clinging too seemed to dissolve at the thought, and her mind flared, consuming greedily every bit of her rationality. Pollux was a handsome devil, a deceitful monster, and he was lying, lying, _lying! _She no longer knew who it was who stared at her from a handsome mask of pale skin and murky brown eyes and dark hair – so like Marius. He was a stranger to her.

But then, she was a stranger to herself. She lost control.

Pollux and the tutor ducked just as the window glass shattered to a thousand tiny pieces. The less sturdy bookshelves were collapsing, and so were the books. The glass covers of the shelves were all cracked, and the curtains were on fire.

He wanted to scream his sister's name, but his mouth was dry. He could only watch in horror as Peia surrounded herself with chaos, slashing her wand all around her, blasting of lamps and busts, trophies and urns, shelves and desks, slashing off tapestries and draperies and carpets and all manner of upholstery. Her face was almost inhuman with fury, but her eyes were glassy. She did not know who Marius was, who Pollux was, who _she_ was.

She did not know what she was doing. He stood from his makeshift refuge.

"Master Pollux!" the tutor cried in protest, but he ignored him.

"Peia!" he bellowed. Peia heard him, and she turned to point her wand at him. Pollux gulped. For the first time in his fourteen years of life, he felt irrationally scared – irrational because he was scared of the little pale figure of Cassiopeia, and more irrationally so because she was his little sister. "Peia?" he said, almost pleading.

Peia's eyes widened in recognition of her brother's voice. Her face flushed, and her wand fell from her grip with a clatter that echoed on and on in the immense silence that had followed.


	5. Repercussions

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Things are changing, but three chapters more before this picks up pace. Be patient! :D And to those who're wondering, you'll see Marius again. :) Oh, and you know, reviews can be a very good way of asking me to update. ;)

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_**Repercussions**_

"How is she?" he asked as he entered the room.

Violetta wanted to ignore him again, as she had done for the past few days, but they had an audience. The reputation of the Blacks must remain untainted.

"Not well," she replied tartly.

Cassiopeia's Healer cleared his throat. "If I may say something, Madame?" he said, asking permission.

She wondered at that. If Cygnus was the one giving her the cold shoulder, and if he had given her the same answer she had just given him, the Healer would not have been too keen to supplement her with details.

"If you insist," she said coldly, shifting in her seat to feel her daughter's forehead. After the incident in the library, Peia contracted a fever so high that Pollux and Dorea had been sent over to Arcturus', her brother-in-law, lest Peia's sickness was contagious. Her forehead was hot, and her cheeks flushed. Her pretty hair lay matted around her face. Violetta felt a stab of remorse as she looked at the sickly figure of her daughter.

"Your daughter is suffering from her own magic," said the Healer.

"How do you mean?" replied Cygnus, prompting him to explain.

The Healer complied. "Extreme emotional upheavals do have great impact on magical beings, most especially witches and wizards. If your daughter has suffered a – a loss of some sort, and it caused her extreme pain…" he trailed, unsure of how far he could go without offense. He had worked before with families such as the Blacks, the Rosiers, and the Yaxleys, and he knew that such business was trickier than fathoming Muggle machines.

"Go on," said Cygnus, suddenly as cold as his wife.

"Well," said the Healer, forcing himself to speak, "your daughter is an extremely powerful witch, and having no proper education prior to that – er – incident, she was unable to control the magic that came rushing out of her then. It was fortunate that she had been stopped before she turned her magic against herself," he said.

Cygnus was quiet, but a thought stirred Violetta's mind. "What is to become of her now?" she asked, though she had a more specific question.

The Healer answered her unspoken question. "I'm afraid she will be too delicate to go to Hogwarts, Madame."

Violetta paled, not noticing Cygnus look at her through narrowed eyes.

"You see," the Healer went on, "once one has unleashed or 'unsealed' his magic to its fullest potential, without prior training on how to channel it properly, that magic cannot be 'sealed' again."

"So… so it will be an extremely difficult task to control her magic well enough for her to perform spells and so on?" asked Cygnus in a hollow tone. Violetta had no heart to speak.

"Well, as you speak of control," said the Healer, "it seems that your daughter, as I have already mentioned, is a remarkably capable witch. Perhaps, she can be taught to control her powers – "

"You just said she is not fit for Hogwarts," interrupted Violetta.

"Indeed, she is not," agreed the Healer, "but there are people who specialize in training more than magical skills. If she is taught decorum, social skills, and the like, I suppose, such holistic discipline – emotional, psychological, apart from academic – will help her. After all, her magic is closely linked to her emotions. Of course, the Hogwarts Headmaster may be willing to give her special attention, because of her condition."

Finishing his little lecture, the Healer began arranging his things.

"Are you certain of this?" Cygnus asked helplessly.

"Of course," said the Healer with a professional air. "Oh, and please, do try not to upset the poor girl. Send her somewhere else for a year, at least, before she begins formal study. I believe," he hesitated, "that something in this house upsets her much, or reminds her of painful things." He turned to leave.

"Where do we send her?"

Violetta Black knew many people – the Crouches, the Burkes, the Crabbes, the Flints, and so many other opulent families whose greatest pride it was to be of pure ancestry. Cassiopeia would loathe them all.

She shot Cygnus a look of loathing. It was his fault. If he had not fooled them into thinking Marius was Peia's twin, she wouldn't have grown attached to that boy. She need not have suffered.

Cygnus, to her surprise, returned her that look. He was angry. He knew that Violetta had every right to be angry with him for being unfaithful, but she had no right to blame him for his daughter's fate. After all, she was the one who had treated Marius so despicably, despite his protests. He, too, was insulted of the fact that he had sired a Squib, but given control over the situation, he would have given their son a little more dignity.

His son, he corrected himself. _His son_.

"We don't know anyone…suitable," said Violetta, after throwing her husband a withering look. They didn't know where else to send their daughter.

"I do know some families in the countryside," said the Healer, noting their hesitation with satisfaction. "I assure you, they are very good families, though, I daresay, not as – as _pure_ of blood as yours."

She hesitated. She did not want Cassiopeia rubbing shoulders with filthy half-bloods. But it was a better option than having an uneducated daughter and another family embarrassment. Reluctantly, she agreed.

* * *

Preparations were quickly made for Peia's departure. She was going to stay at one of the Prewett's estates, which was more than Violetta and Cygnus could hope for. The Prewetts were a wealthy, pureblood family, though they did not belong in the same social circle as the Blacks.

Pollux and Dorea stayed at Arcturus', because their parents feared another emotional breakdown from Cassiopeia. They were forbidden to even write letters to their sister while she was still at the Grimmauld Manor.

Finally, Peia was informed of the plan. She showed neither elation nor depression when she was told that she will be spending a year at the Prewetts. She just looked right through them, with her face expressionless. At the train station, Violetta watched her daughter turn her back on her without so much as a wave of goodbye, and as she walked away, she felt she had lost not only a son, but a daughter as well, only to be replaced by a total stranger in the future.


	6. Under a New Roof

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is property of the ever-amazing JK Rowling.

**A/N: **I'll be very busy this November so I probably won't be able to update much. In any case, I do hope you enjoy reading. Reviews are, as ever, appreciated (not to mention that they work wonders when you want a story updated sooner ;)

Oh, and I'll be putting in previews of the next chapter from now on. :D

* * *

_**Under a New Roof**_

Dovecote Hall was, in Peia's opinion, more beautiful than the London building where she had grown up. Its façade was basically creamy white, with flecks of ivory and the occasional pastel shades of curtains and flowers by the windows. Surrounded by an orchard in full bloom, and with a merrily flowing river nearby, it was a refreshing sight.

With a pang, Peia thought how much the place felt like home.

The introductions were very brief, but were enough to show Peia what kind of people owned the pretty house. The Prewetts were very warm people, though she was only welcomed by Mr. Alfonsus Prewett, the master of the house, and Ms. Enid Prewett, a cousin and the children's governess. The children themselves were out, probably playing.

Peia was amused at how she referred to them as "the children," when she herself was perhaps their age. She felt quite old, though – an old soul trapped in a little girl's body. As she drank some tea with the grown-ups, she felt more and more at ease. Perhaps, there was something about the house itself, with it's large windows and sheer curtains that allowed much light to flood the interior – light that she associated with serenity and peace.

After tea, she followed Miss Enid to her room, but the kind lady excused herself apologetically afterward, saying she had to fetch little Jéanna.

"No, I assure you, I will be fine," she smiled amidst Enid's many apologies. Enid smiled back with something like approval in her eyes, before she closed the door.

Cassiopeia looked around, appreciating the new environment. Back in London, every room suggested luxury. From the heavy velvet curtains and draperies, the large marble pillars and vaulted ceilings, to the lavish furnishings and extravagant chandeliers, everything in the house seemed purposely ostentatious of the wealth and influence of the family that inhabited it.

All those things suffocated Peia. Sitting alone, in a powder blue room that had large French windows and white lace curtains that billowed in the refreshing breeze, she had never before felt so free.

Feeling her sense of wonder and curiosity return to her bit by bit, she stood up to explore the room a little more, and found every little thing in it quite charming. It was spacious, but cozy as well. Even the polished wooden floor felt so welcoming after being imprisoned in a marble mansion. Most of the chairs were sturdy wickerwork, furnished with comfortable cushions. There even was a little rocking chair by the balcony, where she could sit and read. There were no photos in the room, only paintings of the countryside.

In the silence, Peia absorbed it all – the reality of her new freedom, and the semblance of peace that it offered her. She thought about all the things that had happened recently, feeling like she was waking up from an unpleasant dream to a strange reality. Here, she could finally think, and perhaps find answers to the many questions percolating in her head. Here, she could finally look back at bitter memories, and let go.

Here, perhaps, she could find herself again.

* * *

"She seems to be a very polite young woman," Enid remarked. "Though, poor thing, I wonder what had happened to her in that big stone house of theirs," she added thoughtfully. Though Peia looked less pale and less frail than when she first came to Dovecote Hall, she was still quiet, often preferring solitude. She looked pensive quite often, and Enid, being governess to a highly energetic young girl, was rather unsettled by the haunted look on Cassiopeia's face.

Her uncle agreed with her assessment. "Perhaps, given time, she will be able to open up. She acts quite maturely for her age, so don't you think Janus is more fitting company for her than Jéanna?" said Alfonsus, his mouth twitching to a smile.

Enid smiled back, amused. Jéanna was nine, but she loved being a little girl still, though in Enid's opinion, she was being a little boy instead. Janus was thirteen, but she thought he often preferred to be treated like an adult. "Well," she said, "we'll see."

* * *

Peia had never seen such beautiful flowers before. She was in the sunlit conservatory of the Prewett home, surrounded by freesias, daisies, carnations, lilacs, forget-me-nots, foxgloves, stargazers, and hundreds and hundreds of vibrant, fragrant roses. In a charming corner, there were chrysanthemums blooming as though it were spring. Miss Enid put fresh flowers in her room, and she was so delighted by the little bunch that the good lady insisted in bringing her to the conservatory.

Back in London, they had a vast, well-kept lawn with interesting plants – the least bizarre and least dangerous of which was the flutterby bush. Rather than being ornamental, most of them were there to keep intruders away. The larger part of the lawn, where only ordinary grass grew, was reserved for parties and gatherings. The most that she could do was to spend a weekend at her Uncle Arcturus' place, where she could walk some yards away to a nearby creek – something which she did not mind doing so, if only to get away from Pollux, who could sometimes be overbearing, and sometimes, Marius, too, when she wanted space.

Thinking about Marius, Peia sighed. She wondered where he was at the moment, what he was doing, _how _he was doing…. But then, she knew she would never find out. She sighed again, as she stepped out of the flowery hall and into the airy outdoors.

She would find something to piece herself back together. She had to.

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, a young man found himself lying on a comfortable bed – something he had not experienced for weeks. His sore, wounded feet were bandaged, and his dark, curly hair, already ragged with dirt, was washed and combed. Looking around, his grey eyes settled on a photo of a happy couple by the bedside table, and his forehead creased.

The subjects of the photo were not moving.

* * *

Along with the breeze, she heard music, and it was as if she heard music for the first time. It was the piano playing a light, flowing melody that reminded her of the cool breeze in the summer sky. It was, perhaps, a melody she would hear when, many years later, in her own house, she would close her eyes and picture the home that was Dovecote Hall. Entranced, she decided to look for its source.

She entered so quietly that he did not notice her. Peia seized the chance to look at him, at the boy playing the piano. She didn't know if he was a boy. His face was young and boyish, surely, but something in the peaceful expression of his face as he played made Peia wonder how old he was. Judging by his height, she thought he was perhaps only a little younger than Pollux.

Seeing her by the doorway, his face broke into a warm smile, and Peia could not help but smile back. His dark brown eyes met her vivid blue ones for a fraction of a second, and for some reason, he stopped smiling.

"Did I disturb you?" Peia asked, noting the change in his face.

His brow furrowed for an instant, but it was gone the moment he ran a hand through his curly, dark brown crop. He smiled again. "No, of course not," he assured her.

"I heard you playing, and I couldn't resist…" she let her sentence trail away.

There was a moment's silence. Then he spoke again. "You must be Cassiopeia. My name is – "

"Janus," she finished, smiling, too. "It's nice to finally meet you." She did not hold out her hand, but her smile was a genuine one – the first one since Marius had left.

* * *

**Up Next:**

"You're half-blood?" she asked, astonished. The Prewetts were an influential pure-blood family, especially at the Ministry of Magic, though they weren't too friendly with the Black family's crowd.

"Does it matter?" he asked back. He looked at this strange new girl sitting beside him, meeting her unfathomable blue eyes.

She looked away, into the distance. "I was born to a family where blood is everything," she answered, her voice quiet and sad.


	7. Spring in the Summer

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and the magical world is property of JK Rowling.

**A/N:** So yes, it's been a while. This is the second to the last chapter before Peia grows up. Yes, they will grow up. The genre is romance and I don't think having my characters be romantic at twelve or thirteen is... let's just say I'm not very comfortable writing stuff like that. Please observe, though, that Janus and Peia are really establishing ties here; already they are very fond of one another.

Things are about to change, though. Soon. :D

Reviews are much appreciated, as always. :)

* * *

_**Spring in the Summer**_

She was silent for a while, sitting beside Janus on the piano bench, absorbing the melody he was weaving with his skilled hands. Perhaps, it was because of the fact that she had never known anyone before who could use a Muggle instrument so well, but somehow, Peia was so entranced. She was so… captivated.

Noting her absorption, Janus spoke. "You don't play?"

Peia smiled. "I don't know how," she said. "How did you learn?" she asked, glancing at the complex-looking piece on the ledge.

"My mother taught me," he replied, also smiling.

"Your mother?"

"She was a musician," he explained. "A Muggle musician."

"You're half-blood?" she asked, astonished. The Prewetts were an influential pure-blood family, especially at the Ministry of Magic, though they weren't too friendly with the Black family's crowd.

"Does it matter?" he asked back. He looked at this strange new girl sitting beside him, meeting her unfathomable blue eyes.

She looked away, into the distance. "I was born to a family where blood is everything," she answered, her voice quiet and sad. Looking at her, Janus wondered if she was as young as she looked. Framed in a frail body, locked in a pretty face, her soul seemed to have seen too much, lived too long. Sighing, she went on. He stopped playing to listen to her voice, as she told him of what had happened to her brother.

"My mother threw him out, because he was a Squib," she finished, her voice almost inaudible, as though she was talking to herself. She did not cry, but she looked so sad and bitter that watching her, Janus felt her vulnerability beneath her aristocratic, rather arrogant demeanor.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking her hand and squeezing it sympathetically.

Cassiopeia smiled a sad smile. "Don't be," she answered, meeting his eyes.

"I understand, though," said Janus, turning again to the sheets on the ledge of the piano.

"You said your mother was a Muggle…"

"Not many approved of father's choice for a bride," he explained, "so they moved here, to the countryside, where there weren't so many people. For a time, they were happy, living a simple, carefree life. She was the one who planted all those flowers in the conservatory, except for the chrysanthemums." He glanced at the gilded oval frame over the fireplace. It was a painting of a beautiful woman, wearing a pale lacy dress, holding a bunch of roses on her lap as she sat by the window. Her other hand was on the windowsill, holding folded pieces of paper, some of which were music sheets. She was not smiling, but she looked out the window with a dreamy expression in her face. It was a Muggle painting, perfectly capturing the exact moment, preserving it in canvas forever.

Janus shook his head. "When father left for work at the Ministry, he didn't know then, that some of his cousins and aunts came here to distress mother. They treated her worse than they would a house-elf. I suppose they just wanted her to be insulted enough to leave, but they didn't see how deeply she was hurt. When she could bear it no longer, she left, writing father a letter of farewell. She didn't say where she was going, but she said she won't be coming back. She said," he paused, swallowing, "they were too different. And that he had to try and find happiness somewhere else. I was seven or eight, then," he added.

Peia was silent. She didn't know what to say, so she just looked at him, her eyes expressive.

"When father saw the letter, he was nearly driven mad. He looked for her everywhere. When he came home, he was holding a Muggle newspaper that reported the death of a young woman, who happened to be a famous musician in Vienna. She killed herself," he finished.

"Oh!"

He smiled at her, and it was a smile that matched her sad one perfectly. "Father planted all those chrysanthemums a year after she died. Her name was Chrysantha," he explained.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be."

They sat again in silence for awhile, fully aware of one another, and the connection they shared. He played on, and she listened.

"Do you want to learn how to play?" he asked, more casual now.

"You're teasing me, are you?" she said, feeling like she could laugh again.

Janus was amused. "Do I look like I am?" he replied, pretending to be affronted.

Cassiopeia did laugh, and they were both startled to hear that sound. Janus smiled. "I'll teach you," he said. He did not know why he was offering such a thing to Peia. He had tried before, to teach Jéanna how to play, but somehow, he easily lost his patience, as his sister had. Perhaps it was because he was more at ease to speak with Cassiopeia, though she was probably two or three years younger. He felt how well they understood one another, and how much they shared in common. Seeing the sad look in her eyes lessen, perhaps he wanted to know how much he could still do to give back her happiness.

* * *

"They're getting along splendidly, aren't they?" said Jéanna, her arms folded across her chest. She was watching Cassiopeia and her brother talk and laugh together by the porch. Cassiopeia was sitting on the couch (which technically was a swing), while Janus was leaning casually against a wooden post, occasionally playing his violin. She often saw the two of them together, usually at the music room, sitting side by side on the piano bench. Sometimes, she would see them outdoors, just talking, mood varying from somber to lighthearted in as quickly as five minutes. She wasn't really envious of Cassiopeia for enjoying her brother's company more often than she did, but she was quite surprised that Janus would enjoy Peia's, when she thought he hardly enjoyed any company at all.

Standing nearby, Miss Enid silently agreed at Jéanna's observation.

***

He was busy tapping keys in the piano, and at the same time scrawling something on nearby sheets of paper.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she entered the room.

"Nothing of consequence," Janus replied in a casual tone.

Peia laughed. "You'd have to do better than that to fool me," she said, sitting next to him on the piano bench.

"Ha!" he retorted, also laughing, "you're as poor a liar as I am – you can't even keep a straight face when you're happy!"

She accepted his rebuke with another smile. "So what are you doing?" she persisted.

He handed to her the slightly creased pieces of paper. He had taught her enough of music to recognize what he was doing. Her face lit up as she examined the pages. "You're writing a song?"

Janus grinned at her. "Not a song, technically," he said dryly, with a mockingly snobbish air that Peia knew was his imitation of the Black family's projection. She laughed, not offended. "It's just… a piece of music," he said vaguely.

"May I hear it?"

He considered her request. "It's not finished yet," he said, "but if you want to…" And he straightened up in his seat, forgetting everything, except for the piano, his music, and Peia sitting beside him. He began to play.

It was a very simple melody, and in its unpolished state, it was a pure one. There were very little notes on the lower staff, and the notes on the upper staff were fairly simple, but somehow, it was so… sincere. Just as Cassiopeia was beginning to grasp the entirety of Janus' creation, he stopped playing.

"I haven't finished it," he said, when Peia looked at him questioningly.

She smiled. "It's so beautiful," she said.

"Thank you."

* * *

**Up Next:**

**_Cassiopeia's Farewell_**

September was fast approaching. She imagined what Hogwarts would have looked like at this time, or how it would have felt to step inside the Great Hall, marvel at the enchanted ceiling, and even feel the old, tattered Sorting Hat slip down her eyes. She would never experience any of it.

With one hand, Peia crumpled the length of parchment that was her parents' letter.

***

"I'm leaving," she said, her voice quiet. "My parents think I'm ready for school."

"I still don't understand," he said.

* * *

**A/N (2):** Sorry about the chapter preview. It's a very short chapter; can't give away much. I do hope you enjoy reading it, though. :)


	8. Cassiopeia's Farewell

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does.

**A/N:** Okay, so this is the last chapter you'll see Peia as an eleven-year-old. Oh, and I know you're wondering where Marius has gone to, but he won't make his appearance till the 12th chapter (I think). I promise that would be fully devoted to Marius. For this chapter I wished to tackle Cygnus and Violetta - there's more to these two than I'm letting on at this point. To be honest, both of them are liars - but I'm getting ahead of my story. :D For now, read, enjoy, and review! Thank you! :)

Oh, and excuse me for the long preview - the next chapter is my favorite so far. Excuse me, too, if you found typos and grammar errors - I'm fully aware that this whole piece needs to be re-proofread, but I'm just too busy at the moment. Send me a personal message to let me know of errors you spotted, so it would be easy to correct them. Thanks!

And lastly, can anyone teach me how to post proper links here? So I can post the url of the Black family tree. :)

* * *

_**Cassiopeia's Farewell**_

It was a good thing Peia was blue-eyed.

Violetta glared at him like a hawk would, as she had done so ever since that eventful night she blasted Marius's name off the ancient tapestry that declared the Blacks "Toujours Pur." She was waiting for him to finish reading the Healer's reports. Cygnus's blue eyes, just some shades lighter than Cassiopeia's, would have probably ruptured at the intensity and resentment of her gaze, if not for the purpose it served as a reminder of the consequences of Violetta's unchecked anger, and therefore a bringer of the tiniest sense of guilt and remorse in his wife.

It was a very good thing Peia was blue-eyed. It would save him from more of Violetta's anger.

"Well?" she demanded as he put down the Healer's reports.

"She recovered sooner than expected," he replied, struggling to keep his voice level and expressionless. He succeeded almost effortlessly, what with weeks and weeks of practice. He had to constantly remind himself that no matter what, he was a Black. He was Cygnus Black.

His wife released an almost inaudible sigh of relief, and reached for a nearby wineglass. For a mad moment, Cygnus wondered what would happen if he poisoned her wine. He shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. He must stop trying to end the consequences of his sin by committing more sins.

"Then we can send her to Hogwarts," she said, somehow regaining some of her composure. It was a great consolation that Cassiopeia, her eldest daughter, was not going to end up in a permanent ward in St. Mungo's.

"No," said Cygnus. Violetta inclined her head.

"What?" she challenged.

"No," he repeated, thinking quickly. If Peia went to Hogwarts, there was a big possibility that she was not going to end up where he would have wanted her to be. "We're not sending her to Hogwarts." He made his tone sound final.

Violetta blinked, unsure if what she heard was real. She didn't think Cygnus had the right to stand up against her, no matter how small her decisions were. He had lost his claim on her when she learned about his infidelity.

"Why not?"

Cygnus met her hostile silvery grey eyes. "She still needs more attention, doesn't she? We'll send her somewhere else."

* * *

She could smell the rain coming. The grass smelled bitter and earthy, but sweet and moist at the same time. It was a curious thing, how she knew it would rain before she even looked at the skies. But Peia did look up, and she saw how gloomy the skies looked. She wondered if the skies were reflecting her feelings. But then, September was fast approaching.

September was fast approaching. She imagined what Hogwarts would have looked like at this time, or how it would have felt to step inside the Great Hall, marvel at the enchanted ceiling, and even feel the old, tattered Sorting Hat slip down her eyes. She would never experience any of it.

With one hand, Peia crumpled the length of parchment that was her parents' letter. She crumpled it until it was no more than a compact little ball that fit snugly into her closed fist. She heard footfalls – the even, quiet footfalls of Janus. She looked up just in time to see him sit down beside her in the grass.

"We were looking for you," he said. He looked at her with brotherly concern. "You've been out all day; Miss Enid was especially worried about your health," he continued.

Peia was half-amused to see him reprimanding her. She used to laugh whenever he did, even though she knew it was only appropriate, as he was older. She was not used to having anyone reprimand her, not even Pollux. But she was in no mood to laugh at the moment. She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I've been out for longer than this, back home," she said, breaking from his concerned gaze.

Janus was not fooled. Cassiopeia was such a transparent person, or perhaps he just knew her so well he could read her every facial expression.

"What's wrong, Peia?" he asked, growing more serious. "I can read trouble in your face in a single glance," he said.

She looked up at him so quickly that he thought he had offended her. "Did I say something?" he asked.

He had, but Peia remained silent. She was remembering Marius, and that night. He had said the exact same thing. _I can read trouble in your face in a single glance._

Shaking her head, she held out her clenched fist and opened it slowly, like a flower blooming. Fine ash blew from her hand. She had scorched the paper in her anger, but she didn't even realize she had burned it away.

"What happened?" he asked, understanding that it was her runaway magic that had been at work. He knew something had upset her.

"I'm leaving," she said, her voice quiet. "My parents think I'm ready for school."

"I still don't understand," he said.

She did not look at him, this time. She probably was afraid to see his sadness, or more likely, her sadness reflected in his eyes. Just as when she had found something so close to _home, _she was forced to lose it. "I'm being sent to France."

* * *

Jéanna embraced Peia for the last time. "You'll write?" she asked, smiling eagerly, her brown eyes torn between twinkling merrily and crying.

Peia nodded. "And I'll send you chocolates – boxes and boxes of chocolate, if you want," she promised. "You take care," she said softly, cupping her cold hands on both Jéanna's rosy cheeks.

The train whistled. It was nearly time to leave.

Miss Enid sighed. "I wish you had allowed Janus to come and bid you a proper goodbye," she told Peia.

As she had anticipated, she just shook her head. "It would be harder for me to leave," she said, with an effort at lightness. She was not sure if she was joking, though.

After thanking Miss Enid, Sir Alfonsus, and Jéanna, Peia climbed aboard, feeling as though she was leaving her soul at the Prewetts' home. As she settled into a compartment that had been solely reserved for her, she looked out the window, thinking about this summer that had changed her life in so many ways.

Amidst the rhythmic sound of the train's engine, and its periodic whistle, she thought she could hear a melody playing in the piano, not so far away.

* * *

**Up Next:**

Those seven years had wrought so much in each of them, and so much between them. Somehow, they both knew that they had left that time when they could sit by the porch and laugh together.

***

"Peia," he said. It was the first time, in seven years, that he had spoken her name aloud. He tasted it in his mouth, unsure if it was still the right way to say it. He was always at ease, speaking with anyone, but somehow, she made him feel a little tenser.

***

"Had I known that you were arriving, I would have been here earlier... but evidently, I wasn't important enough to be informed." He spoke pleasantly, but it seemed to Peia that she was not the only one who had learned to conceal feelings.

She raised an eyebrow, to let him see she was surprised at his accusation. "Frankly," she said, though there was nothing frank in her manner, "I didn't think you would have cared."

"How can you say that?"


	9. Reunion

**Disclaimer: **I only wish I own Harry Potter.

A/N: My apologies for having taken so long. I got buried in a mountain of schoolwork. Anyway, enjoy reading. :)

* * *

_**Reunion**_

Just seven years had passed, but that morning, she felt that she had lived for three more decades.

It was almost ten in the morning, but in the bedchamber of the mistress of the house, the windows were shut, and the curtains drawn. The door was locked as well. The only source of light left alone was the stuttering fire at the hearth. Somehow, in the dim light, everything looked even more forbidding, and the fire created intimidating shadows.

"You have come," said Violetta. She could feel her normally steady voice quiver. She sat in front of her vanity, looking at her pale reflection in the mirror. It looked even paler in the darkness. She had always worn an imposing mask on her face, a façade of arrogance, but at this instant, she felt bare. Her face was full of fear.

"I do not forget, my dear Violetta" he said, his voice menacing, even from behind her, sending chills down her spine. Even as he said "my dear," every word sounded like a threat.

"I know," she said. "Neither do I. The announcement shall be... soon."

"How soon?" he asked softly.

"I – I need time," she said, failing miserably on her attempt at self-composure.

"Be sure," he said, and when he was gone, Violetta breathed. Reflected in the mirror was a photograph on her bedside table. It was the photograph of a beautiful child with brown tresses. The child smiled sweetly at her. She eyed her ruefully for a moment, and sighed.

He could easily recognize her even from behind. He knew, somehow, that it was her, though they had not seen each other for seven years. As he looked at her, sitting by the back porch, in a pale dress and with letters on her hand, he felt how time had worked its way between them.

She looked into the distance, her beautiful face wistful. Her hair was twisted in a French knot, but loose honey-brown tendrils framed her face and tumbled in the breeze. With her skill, she could feel him walking to her, but she did not turn. She did not need to turn to know he was there. She did not even need her skill to know it, even if she had not seen him for seven years.

Those seven years had wrought so much in each of them, and so much between them. Somehow, they both knew that they had left that time when they could sit by the porch and laugh together.

"You remind me of the portrait of my mother, back home," he said lightly, though, smiling a warm, welcoming smile that she probably did not see, as he was standing right behind her.

She still did not turn her head, but she smiled. If he had seen that smile, he would have found it rather lacking. It was a little too distant, very much like the seven years that had distanced them. Not that he had neglected to keep in touch. He wrote as regularly as he could, but her responses got shorter and shorter until he got nothing at all.

"I don't know if I should feel insulted or flattered," she replied. Even her manner of speech was different. It was less warm, somehow. It was less sincere. It was less…Peia.

Janus walked around, so that he could see her better. "Well, that was no flattery, but you know I won't insult you for all the galleons in the world," he said, still smiling. "All you need, though, is this," he paused to hand her a bouquet of beautiful red roses, which he procured from thin air. "Now, I daresay you are truly picturesque," he announced.

And she was picturesque. He knew it was Peia, but he had not anticipated, even in his dreams, that she would look so beautiful. Yet, despite all its beauty, her face was a blank mask of aloofness. There was a certain feminine grace and elegance with the way she sat, emphasized even more by the curves of her body and the flowing fabric of her dress. There was something with the way she carried herself that was fascinating and intimidating – intimidating because it was a self-possession bordering on arrogance. And all those things made him realize she had grown. He remembered her vivacity, and wondered at the change.

"Thank you," she replied softly as she accepted the bouquet, but to Janus, her words were as cold as her manner towards him. His dark brown eyes held her ocean-colored gaze, trying to fathom, perhaps, what they had both lost in the process of growing up.

Cassiopeia did the same thing. Janus was taller, looking incredibly dashing and gentlemanly. He stood with an aristocratic bearing that he probably did not realize he possessed, looking rather at ease and moving with masculine grace. His face, she knew, was a face that could capture any woman's eyes. But she, Cassiopeia, broke her gaze and looked away.

She did so, before she lost herself in his eyes' dark depths.

"Peia," he said. It was the first time, in seven years, that he had spoken her name aloud. He tasted it in his mouth, unsure if it was still the right way to say it. He was always at ease, speaking with anyone, but somehow, she made him feel a little tenser.

She could taste the tension in the air, too. She listened to him speak her name, immediately squashing that curious sense of euphoria that was starting to blossom in her soul. It was the first time in seven years that anyone had spoken her name the way he did.

He saw her move her head slowly, in his direction, and he wondered, again, at how strangely she acted, and how strangely he felt. In between their words, the silence hung heavily between them, oppressive. He would not let it triumph. He spoke.

"Had I known that you were arriving, I would have been here earlier."

She just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Seeing that she betrayed no emotion, he went on, "but evidently, I wasn't important enough to be informed." He spoke pleasantly, but it seemed to Peia that she was not the only one who had learned to conceal feelings.

She raised an eyebrow, to let him see she was surprised at his accusation. "Frankly," she said, though there was nothing frank in her manner, "I didn't think you would have cared."

"How can you say that?"

Peia shrugged. Back at Beauxbatons, his letters got less and less frequent until she received none at all. If she told him that, though, she knew he would deny it.

He knelt down on one knee, his eyes leveling with hers. And she knew then that she could not evade him. She could not escape him entirely. He was magnetic.

He reached for her hand. She met his gaze.

"I would have cared," he said quietly. "I cared, and still do. And I always will."

"Oh!" said an entirely different voice from behind them, and both turned their heads to look.

Callidora blushed in embarrassment, her already rosy cheeks glowing even more brilliantly. "I really didn't mean to – I am so sorry, Peia," she said, trying to recover herself as quickly as possible. Already, she was regaining her composure. It was a trademark of the Blacks, that cool self-possession. Or maybe, she thought wryly, of high society, when they tried to look unfazed by the trifling and the mundane.

"It's alright, Dora, you weren't intruding," said Peia coolly.

"Not at all," agreed Janus affably, straightening up.

Predictably, Dora's dough eyes were immediately drawn, quite appraisingly, to Janus. "Oh," she said again, not sounding surprised. She wondered who this personable young man was, and what he was doing, speaking alone with her cousin.

"How rude of me," said Janus "I had not introduced myself." As he walked towards Callidora, Peia could not help noticing the difference in his manner. While he had been intense just a moment ago, he was now being quite debonair. She watched him introduce himself to her cousin, lowering his lips to her hand the old-fashioned way, and conjuring a single, white stargazer for her sake. She didn't know he could act so charmingly, so differently.

To her, he was simply Janus. To her, he was _Janus_.

When he turned his back to her, Dora's eyes were approving, but Janus' were intense again. He was looking at Peia's, who looked lightly amused.

_Coldly _amused, he thought.

Dora cleared her throat to break the awkward silence, and to remind them that she was there. Janus turned his back to both of them, placing his hands in his pocket. He sighed discreetly.

"What is it, cousin?" Peia asked.

Dora glanced hesitantly at Janus' back, before replying. "_Ta maman t'appelles, cousine,_" she said.

"_Maintenant? Pourquoi ?_"

She bit her lip. "_Parce que…. _Oh. Come to think of it, _je ne sais pas_."

Peia suppressed a sigh, and stood up to answer her mother's summons. "Entertain him, will you?" she jerked her head to Janus' direction. He turned just in time to see her back.

"Peia," he called.

_Magnetic._

She turned, but her face was blank. "Yes?"

"You left your roses," he said, smiling rather smugly, the way he so charmingly smiled at Dora.

Disconcerted, Peia looked at his eyes, and was somehow relieved to see what she did not see anywhere else in his face. This time, she held his gaze a little longer, letting him a glimpse – just a little glimpse – of the Peia he had once known. Then she whisked her roses, and she was gone.

"So," said Dora, finally breaking the ringing silence that had followed her cousin's departure. She moved lithely to the seat Peia had vacated, still examining Janus with curious, cautiously approving eyes.

Janus noticed how similar and how different Peia was from Callidora. Physically, they had no resemblance, except perhaps in their imperious bearing. Dora was rosy-cheeked, bright eyed, and warm, while Peia was beautiful in a very different way – hers was the face that would haunt men's dreams at night. Perhaps it was the fact that she was simply so enigmatic, silent and somewhat haughty and indifferent. Callidora was certainly charming, but Cassiopeia was tantalizing. She _captivated._

"I wonder why Peia never spoke of you," she said, breaking Janus' train of thoughts.

"Never?" he asked, his attention diverted.

"Hmmm," said Dora, leaning forward, resting her chin against her pretty white hand. "She never mentioned any man, actually. They would literally flock to her at gatherings, and flatter and fawn and be ridiculously sycophantic, but she wouldn't take interest in any single one of them. Not even," she paused dramatically, "the most handsome."

Janus could not help smile. "I'll just humor you, shan't I?" he said, certain that Dora was pulling his leg.

Dora laughed. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "she'd occasionally take notice of an Italian-looking young man, or someone with dark curls and dark hair…" She looked at him teasingly. "But again, she never really became attached to someone. We thought she just wasn't interested in men the ways other girls do," she finished.

Janus smiled, but this time, Dora noticed, it was a smile more sincere and more hopeful.

"Oh no," she wagged a reproving finger at him, "I'm not giving you assurances here," she said.

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"That's a good question, you know," said Dora, laughing again. "Well, I'll answer that, as well as tell you one more thing – consider it your assurance, if you will."

"What is it?" asked Janus, cautious now.

She stood up, and leaned to whisper in his ear. "I have never seen her look at any other man the way she looked at you." She straightened up, smiled conciliatorily, and left him much more befuddled than before.

* * *

**Up Next:**

"You will do it," Violetta insisted, but she already knew what Peia's reply would be.

"Why would I?"

"Because, if you are prudent, and I am sure you are, you would not want to go against your mother's will, my dear. I know you better than you give me credit, and believe it or not," she said in a soft, dangerous voice, "I can force you to do it. You wouldn't want that, of course, because I presume you value your dignity too much."

She brushed off the dust with her fingers, the turquoise ring that her Uncle Cygnus had given her clinking silently against the once-polished surface.

In the silence, she heard a low, groaning sound of stones sliding out of position, and she found herself looking at a set of narrow stone steps that led to the darkness. With growing sense of foreboding, she wondered where it led.

* * *

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